


The Four Thieves

by maggiemerc



Series: The Monomythical Adventures of Regina Mills and Emma Swan [2]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Epic Bromance, Friendship, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-21
Updated: 2014-11-17
Packaged: 2017-12-15 16:18:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/851538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maggiemerc/pseuds/maggiemerc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A stand alone series set between Destiny and Toxic. Regina is stuck on a boat with three strangers. The four have to not kill each other, or Sinbad, if they ever want to make it home. Sirens, witches, gods, a giant’s boils and some delicious apple turnovers all stand in their way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Deadly Sirens and Their Licentious Prey

**Author's Note:**

> This whole series is kind of stand alone but really not. It just bridges the gap between Destiny and Toxic, giving people a better idea of what Regina spent two plus years doing. As such each story is only loosely tied to those around it. Tragic. I know.

Once upon a time Four Thieves sailed an ocean bluer than the sapphires on Ozma’s crown. They were searching for a town where every myth and story was true and every person was someone once and then twice. 

They were not. They were only themselves. The pirate who sought revenge for a lost love, the princess searching for her family, the warrior devoted to her, and the sorceress pining but never, ever, ever willing to admit it unless fire, truth serum, or a great deal of alcohol were involved.

The sorceress never drank for fear of alcohol or truth serum loosening her tongue, and she'd long ago learned to be flame retardant so it wasn't like--

"I swear to God Sinbad if you don't stop that insipid narration I'll test **your** flame retardancy."

Aurora opened her mouth to let slip her own highly offensive bon mot but the wicked sorceress pegged her with an ominous glare. 

"And **only** his flame retardency. You're a princess Aurora. Try not to use words that haven't been acceptable since the 60s."

The princess blinked. Another confused victim of Regina's bizarre references to a land none of them had se--

 

####

"Choking," Sinbad grunted.

Regina ignored him and squeezed tighter.

"A--air--can't--breathe!"

"I know."

"Regina," Mulan warned, looking up from her spot at the bow where she'd crooked her leg over the side and was sharpening her sword. "We need him as our guide to Olympus."

"What she said," he squeaked out.

Regina raised her other hand and crooked her finger, so, still choking, Sinbad floated across the deck to be within physical reach. 

"No on ever said the guided needed a **tongue**."

"But it's such a devillishly **good** tongue," Hook interjected.

Aurora covered her eyes as though she had a migraine. "I think I'm going to vomit."

"Homophobia? From you? I'm surprised."

"What's that supposed to--"

"Still choking!"

"No one cares," Regina said. "Everyone would much rather talk about Aurora's insensitivity to minorities. Really dear, with your mothers you should be the last person on this boat to be nauseated by same sex relations."

"Her parents," Hook said, "I was thinking of her and Mulan, who are every bit as noisy as Sinbad and myself."

"Now I'm going to vomit," Regina said flatly, her hand still extended and Sinbad twitching at the end of her fingertips. "Am I really the only one on this boat not engaging in licentious relations?"

Hook shrugged, "I don't know. I heard you and your hand are quite--"

Mulan sighed as Hook flew straight off the boat and landed in the water with a loud splash. "You've got to stop flinging him and Sinbad off the boat every time they say something crude."

"Exactly," Sinbad gasped, his face now as purple as the sash around his waist, "You'll spend the whole trip double backing to pick us--"

She flicked her finger and Sinbad launched off the other side of the boat. Aurora cried out as he flew but it was only when there was a loud "whump" and a groan instead of the expected splash that she explained.

"I tied the dinghy up on that side."

"I'm dead," he moaned from somewhere over the side of the boat. "I think you broke my coccyx!"

Regina stepped trepidatiously to the side and peered over. "You don't even know what a coccyx is."

He was splayed out on the bare deck of the tiny boat. It was the one they'd found him in all alone, rowing from the destruction of Bluebeard's castle two weeks after Cora had betrayed Regina and given her a knife in the belly for her trouble.

In the two weeks since then no one had bothered to ask him how he'd gone from famous sailor with a huge ship to homeless man in a dinghy. Primarily because no one cared.

Regina waved her hand and an oar flew into her hand. She dropped it down blade first and it only barely missed his crotch.

"Sinbad, be a dear and pick up your bunk mate would you?"

"You're the one whizzing people around like lawn darts. You do it!"

She conjured the second oar about three feet above his head and let it hang.

"Regina," Mulan warned, "don't tease the idiot."

Aurora shrugged, "A little teasing doesn't hurt."

Somewhere, far behind the boat, Hook splashed and shouted. It was too far away for any of them to hear what he was saying.

Until the unmanly yelp and very specific cry of "Shark!"

Everyone not being circled by a shark stared at Regina.

"Oh all right."

She snapped and the oar disappeared, Sinbad found himself hanging in the ropes above their head and Hook returned to more solid ground, albeit soaking wet.

He sneered at her and approached menacingly. "I find you bleeding and moaning in the woods and all alone and I bring you here and nurse you back to life and yet somehow, without fail, you knock my rear off my own damn boat every day."

"I found her," Aurora said.

"And I fixed her," Mulan added.

"It's my bloody boat!"

"So we can cut it down to…four times a week? Three?"

He leaned down. "None."

She tilted her head up. "One."

Sinbad, still tied up above, raised his hand, "If you two have sex can I watch?"

 

####

They did not untie him.

In fact Regina tightened the bonds. Which led to comments about kinks. Which led to a desire to slap him. Which led to her **own** thoughts about kinks. Which led to Aurora not so innocently asking her why she was so flushed.

Were it up to her (and it had been made very quickly that it was not) she would have launched all of them off the ship. Firecrackers protruding from their rears and sending them scorching across the sky. 

It would have been majestic. A photographable moment.

But she would have had no one to share it with what with everyone she cared for being stuck in another land with her **mother**. So she played nice. They needed her help as much as she needed theirs.

Especially for the task at hand.

"Sirens," Hook said ominously.

They were making their way to Olympus, but their path, the only remotely safe route in the land, was through straits that were treacherous even for a ship as fast as the Jolly Roger. One one side the rocks erupted out of the ocean like they were fleeing the molten earth below. They were vicious and sharp crags that would shred even the sturdiest ship.

The other side was less the traditional sheer wall of rock and more a stunning beach and smooth waters.

Waters inhabited by sirens.

Who ate people.

To avoid the boat and people eating rocks they had to sail closer to the people eating bird women.

The whole adventure was…unpleasant.

Still, "It shouldn't be that difficult. We tie you and Sinbad up and leave buckets to catch all the drool."

“The sirens don’t lure men,” Sinbad said, slowly swinging in the breeze, “they lure anyone attracted to women.”

“Well, then we’ll be fine won’t we?”

Sinbad snorted and Hook looked at her knowingly. Expectantly even.

Until Aurora meekly raised her hand. “I should probably be tied up then.” 

She glanced at Mulan next to her, who sighed and sheathed her sword, “Tie me up too.”

Aurora flushed and Mulan looked away, a blush burning on her cheeks as well.

“So I’m the only one on this ship **not** attracted to women?”

Hook shrugged, “If that’s what you claim and are willing to risk all our lives on.”

“Of course it is!”

He eyed her, “How’re your boating skills then?”

“Adequate enough.”

 

####

The four lovers found themselves lashed to the ship’s mast. The sea spray soaked through their thin garments, revealing every masculine swell and feminine curve.

“If I have to listen to this narration any longer your masculine swells are going overboard again,” the witch (for sorceress was too noble a term for her) shouted from her station at the boat’s wheel.

What the witch had not yet realized was that the clever sailor had pilfered a book from the pirate’s hold and read words that must never be read and been cursed to narrate every action around him in purple prose.

“I knew it,” the pirate shouted in triumph scant centimeters from the sailor’s ear. “You said you didn’t but clearly you did!”

Yes, the sailor had been looking for treasures to plundered and gotten bored in the process and it was all part of a discussion that could be held at a later date—

“No. We can have it now. It’s not like we’re going anywhere.”

The pirate was so insistent. Needy really. Which was probably why he couldn’t keep a lover—Kicks! Kicks to the legs! 

“Hook,” the warrior woman said in a tone tinged with exhaustion. “Stop trying to kick Sinbad.”

The kicks that landed were painful, but kicking someone lashed to a mast when you were lashed to the other side of the lash was, unsurprisingly, difficult.

“Can we muffle him,” the princess asked, her pretty little ears too accustomed to treacly whispers of wonderment to handle the bold prose of a poet.

“That doesn’t even make sense,” the warrior insisted, as though she’d learned anything of good writing while training to whack people with swords. 

The witch’s voice boomed, “Shut up, all of you!”

The cacophony of the ship’s crew dulled to a whisper, so soft that with a cocked ear they could hear the sweet sound riding on the waves. 

The sirens.

Their resonant aria drifted across the blue-green sea, tickling the ear and stirring the groin. It was a kind of driving ecstasy that lured the listener ever closer to the shore. The only need one could feel at the sound was to be so close that one could touch the lips uttering that beautiful song.

The boat swayed, the wheel spinning and the sails twisting as the witch drove them closer to the shore.

“Not too close,” the pirate cried, as though immune to that resplendent song.  

The witch’s eyes were focused, dark and watchful like a bird of prey’s. Her control of the ship’s wheel was delicate. Reserved. “I know what I’m doing,” she growled.

And indeed she had a truly masterful command.

“Thank you.”

Closer and closer they sailed, until the shore took shape and details emerged, like the film pulled from the surface of a broth. The sirens frolicked on the beach, their three toed feet, like those of birds, dug into the black sands, and their wings, grey like the storm on the horizon, glittered in the sun, droplets of water like jewels on their feathers.

Their bodies were ideal. Plump or slim. Commanding or giving. Some had muscles that bulged beneath the skin, and others had curves to lie one’s head upon. They were of every land, some dark, some pale. All gorgeous. With lips that hummed a song of despair and need as inviting as their sensual hands.

One by one they noticed the ship, the white sail like a light upon a stage, commanding their performance. They gathered and the song changed. The despair mounted. The pathos of each note rending apart the passengers of the boat.

One could only close their eyes with the mad hope that not seeing those mournful women would abate the driving need to be with them. To soothe and hold and love them.

But one by one each person on the boat opened their eyes.

And the sirens were all themselves and all one. Pleading. Desperate. With blond hair streaked with saltwater and sad green eyes.

“Why do they all look like Emma Swan,” the princess asked. Tears streamed down her face but her tone was confused.

“It’s not because of me,” the pirate shouted in defense.

“Or me,” the sailor insisted.

And it could not be the warrior woman, who’s hand grasped the princess’s tightly and who’s head was ducked and her lips moving in a song of her own.

“Then who’s—“

It was the splash of a body meeting the water that alerted them all. Both to the newest trouble to strike, and to the identity of sirens’ audience.

The witch.

Was in love.

With a woman.

Oh she might not know it. It might be emotions just there at the fringe of her mind, but the sirens knew it. They sought love out and called to it. Appealed to the lonely. Offered to make them whole. Lust was their tool, but love was the instrument they played.

“You couldn’t have told us that before we left her in charge,” the pirate asked.

The reveal, at that moment, as the woman cut through the water like a knife, with sure, quick strokes, was much more potent then it would have been earlier. Such as when that wicked witch had been sending the handsome sailor’s ass up the mast like a damned sail.

“Revenge?! You’re getting us all killed because she hoisted your ass up the mast?”

It was a magnificent ass.

The pirate, renowned amongst little boys for his prowess with a sword, pulled at the ropes binding him to the mast.

“We’ve got to do something,” the princess cried, forever stating the obvious.

“I’m for killing this bastard,” the warrior woman said, her words remarkably forming despite her tiny, tiny brain.

“I’ve,” grunted Hook, “got it!” 

What he’d done was genuinely impressive. He’d removed his hook, dropped it onto his foot and kicked it up into his hand. He then swiftly worked the knot tying him in place and freed himself.

“No one follow please. I’d rather like to make it out of this alive.” For a rapacious pirate Captain Killian Jones could be dashing when absolutely warranted.

He ran to the side of the ship and looked over, but did not leap into the water after the witch, who strummed along like she’d been born in the brew. Instead he ran up to the wheel and adjusted the ship’s course, ensuring they would not run aground and be eaten by gorgeous bird women.

“Well,” the princess asked haughtily, “aren’t you going after her?”

“I’m a pirate, not a hero!”

The warrior struggled with her bonds, “You can’t let her die!”

“It’s not **my** fault she lied about liking women. If she wants to get eaten that’s her business.”

“Please,” the princess pled, “you have to save her.”

For the briefest of moments the sea swelled and the sirens’ song could not be heard, and for the pirate even the sound of the others on the boat were gone. For one moment he was a man all alone. A man faced with a choice. Conflict was painted on his handsome face. Save the woman or save his own life. 

His jaw clenched.

He went backed to the mast, grabbed the rope that had bound him to it and returned to the wheel, tying it into place and keeping them on their current course for the foreseeable future.

He then threw off his coat with a very dramatic flair and stepped to the side of the ship again, his boot on the edge and the figure he cut a dashing one.

“Thanks,” he said with a wink. Then to all of them, “No one die while I’m gone.”

With a dive that would have made a mermaid proud he slipped into the water and disappeared beneath the surface.

Then, because luck was never on their side, the rope wrapped around the wheel and keeping the boat on course, slipped off. A gust of wind sent the boat veering sharply to starboard.

This was what they got for letting a man with a **hook** for a hand tie a knot.

"Don't be an ableist," the princess scolded. Like she hadn't tried to call him retarded earlier.

"Damn it." That was the warrior woman, now struggling against her ropes.

"You can't," the princess passionately insisted. "If you're tempted--"

"We have to get the boat back on course Aurora. I can do it."

Such fervor shared between the almost lovers. Guaranteeing that they'd be the next ones lured by the sirens.

The warrior produced a knife from places no one could have fathomed and cut herself free.

“Mulan,” the princess begged, her voice cracking with her plea.

And the warrior spun on her heel and pressed into the other woman, her hand around her waist and her lips searing against the princess’s. It was a kiss that ached to watch. The complicated love they shared and the ghost between them. The man they’d loved. And the bittersweetness of this first and potentially final moment. The warrior was perhaps dooming herself to die, and the princess was helpless to do anything but watch.

They parted sweetly, the princess trying to prolong the kiss and the warrior steeling herself for the trouble ahead. When she’d stepped far enough away the princess sighed and her head thumped loudly against the mast.

“If we survive,” she said, “I am going to murder you Sinbad.”

The warrior staggered towards the wheel while the boat drew closer to land and the alluring sirens. She made it the last few steps and quickly went to work rigging the rope properly and tying half a dozen knots.

“I’m not tying that many knots! You want them **you** do it.”

Three knots?

“One!”

She made it the last few steps and quickly went to work rigging the rope properly and tying one very good knot that could certainly not be undone with a **breeze** like certain other knots tied that day.

Then, because she wasn’t as stupid as previously assumed, the warrior used the rest of the rope to tie herself up just out of reach of the wheel. Though…how clever could it be? The woman had just tied herself up she could just as easily—

She dislocated her shoulder. Okay. Yes. That was one way to hobble one’s self and keep one from undoing the knot one had tied. It was, in fact, a very impressive way of handling one’s self. 

“Thanks,” she said through clenched teeth.

It was only after they’d all stood there a few moments, sailing along to the most wondrous accompanying music that they realized they still hadn’t heard from the pirate or the witch.

Perhaps they’d drowned.

“Only one of us is drowned and if you’re clear enough in the head to keep on with that awful narration then you can damn well help us get back onboard,” the pirate shouted somewhere on the port side near the stern.

“We can’t,” the princess shouted back, “we’re all tied up.”

“Fine then! I had to drown Regina just to keep her from magicking her way onto the island and she’ll probably be to brain addled to be ressucitated soon but we’ll just wait!”

The realization that she was going to have to dirty those pretty little hands if she wanted to save a life painted a scowl on the princess’s face.

She wriggled her way out of the ropes, the rough cords scratching her face, and her fairly swift escape revealing just how poorly they’d all been tied up.

“I see **you’re** still tied up,” she noted smugly. 

It was a truth. The clever sailor was so tightly bound he was positive he’d lost circulation in parts of his anatomy.

“Only if we’re lucky.”

The princess worked quickly, tying an excellent loop and throwing it overboard for the pirate. Then with a series of very unbecoming grunts she pulled both witch and pirate back onboard.

Hook looked very manly despite being soaking wet. His shirt had torn to reveal a handsome chest and his sopping hair was in his face.

The witch on the other hand…

“Hurry,” Hook said, “we need to get her breathing again.”

She was as pale as the princess, but with blue lips.

“I can’t,” the princess said. Her eyes weren’t on the witch or pirate, but the sirens, who had shifted again and were now a mix of the princess herself and the warrior woman. Their song was no longer a mournful wail but a stirring and erotic ballad, and the sirens seemed to perform each note not to the ship but to one another. Acting out fantasies two very real women had long kept private.

“Right,” Hook said.

“There’s no time to tie me up,” she was already trying to get past the pirate.

“What would you have me do,” he said, shoving her back.

“Punch me.”

He gave her a final push. There was a moment where she did not move and he used it to look at his fist and weigh his options. Then she **did** move and with no other choice he punched her so hard she spun.

The only thing that **didn’t** keep it from being the most repugnant thing anyone had ever seen was how Hook caught her and gently set her on the deck. 

It was, however, still very repugnant, and certainly to be part of any narrative told about the “great” Captain Hook in the future. 

He punched princesses.

“Because I was very low on options. Now quiet. I have to bring this one back to life.”

He was situating the witch and tilting her head like he **could** bring her back to live. Or even **should**. She was an awful woman. Grumpy. Short tempered. Prone to flinging people—

 

####

She knew it wasn’t Emma Swan. Logic, her own eyes, **everything** told her it wasn’t Emma Swan. But the song. The song spoke to her. Lured her away from logic. From reality. Beguiled her with its dolorous notes. Though she knew it was not Emma Swan on that island she’d felt compelled on some primordial level to seek her out and offer comfort. 

Those were her last thoughts. Keeping Emma safe and sound had been her only desires.

Then she found herself baking in the sun on the hot deck with a soaking wet Killian Jones dripping seawater all over her.

“You alive?”

“Yes. Why am I on the deck?” And why did her mouth taste like dirty fish?

He stared and she knew it was a silly question to ask. 

“I tried to swim to the sirens didn’t I?”

“The bright side is you didn’t try to take the whole ship with you.” 

He helped her sit up and she took stock of the rest of their paltry little crew.

“Why is Aurora unconscious?”

“Was that or let her go for a swim too.”

“And Mulan?” Who was glowering up by the wheel and holding her shoulder.

“Dislocated her shoulder to keep from getting free.”

“And Sinbad?” He alone was still tied up as she’d left him. Only unconscious and with what looked like a broken nose.

“You might not believe me, but punching him was absolutely necessary.” Killian grinned and Regina had to smile too. The sailor was absolutely atrocious sometimes. “By the way, he **is** cursed, we’re stuck with his narrations until you can figure something out.”

“And I assume ‘something’ doesn’t involve tongue removal.”

“As I’ve already told you, that tongue of his is one of his only redeeming qualities.”

She shuddered.

“So that bit, back before, about you not being attracted to women? Looks like you were wrong.”

At the time, even after kissing Emma and even after everything with Bluebeard she’d thought it was…something else. Infatuation only bordering on the sexual.

“According to Sinbad lust is only part of what the sirens do. To be really effective the victim has to be in love.” His blue eyes sparkled like he was telling a joke.

“I’m not in love with Emma Swan.”

“Some part of you is.”

“She’s abrasive. Idiotic. Controlling. Annoying.”

“And you miss her.”

The only person she missed more was Henry.

She ignored his attempts to get something out of her. “What about you,” she asked, “why didn’t their song work on you?”

He looked past her, towards the sirens, and she turned to see them in the distance. She realized she could hear them still, but their song was now so soft as to be a dream. 

They were all one woman. A gorgeous dark haired woman with fair skin and a secret in her smile. 

“Is that her?”

He said nothing, his Adam’s apple bobbed as he watched the sirens sing.

It had to be.

Milah. Rumpelstiltskin had ripped her heart from her chest in front of Killian. Crushed it to spite him and to destroy her.

She knew that pain too well.

And if it had been Daniel calling she would have been bound to oblige.

“Why don’t you go to her?”

The corner of his mouth ticked up into an almost smile. “I think for the sirens’ song to work you need hope. The woman I love’s been dead more than a hundred years. Those things on the shore are just ghosts.” 

It was the first truth she’d ever heard from him that she’d actually believed.

The sirens’ faces flickered, shifted from Killian’s specter to Regina’s own. And she resisted this time, mindful of his words.

If one needed hope to be enticed by their song then Regina could survive. Because whatever her own feelings might be, she knew, without doubt, that they would never be returned.

Without thought her hand slipped into Killian’s and she gave it a squeeze, and the pirate squeezed back, and together they turned away from dreams that would never be fulfilled.


	2. Two Witches and a Cup of Tea, Part One

Aeaea was a lovely little tropical island with black beaches, sparkling blue waters and lush green forest. On a hill at the center of the island, guarded by thick foliage, lay a glistening white temple. Or home. 

It looked Grecian in design and it’s tall marble columns could be seen all the way from the shore.

It was the home of Circe, a bewitching former queen in exile—a scenario Regina could empathize with. Though she’d been stuck on the foot of a mountain, not given a palace on a tropical island where the temperature probably never rose above eighty five degrees.

They’d come to Circe’s quaint little island to learn the whereabouts of the god Hermes. Sinbad claimed he knew the deposed queen and could get the information. He’d also claimed that Circe only hated women more than she hated her former husband.

So he and Killian went wandering past the sleepy village hidden in the trees and up the path to Circe’s adobe. 

And while the "men" were off to work the "women" were enjoying their break from adventuring. Aurora had found Killian's journal in his room and was reading it to herself. She'd periodically snicker and when Mulan or Regina would ask why she'd wave them off and return to reading, her eyes wide with amusement.

Mulan was honing knives and throwing them at a circle she'd painted on the mast of the ship. They made a pleasant "thunk" each time they sank into the wood. Then she'd pick up the next blade and that sound of a metal's edge dragged across a stone would ring in the sea air.

Then another "thunk."

Regina was laid out in a very comfortable thick towel near the wheel house. It was the only place, that afternoon, that was in the sun and not in the path of Mulan's blades.

She'd traded her dark queen garb for a two piece. It had started its existence as a photo in an issue of Vogue. She'd called the designer…repeatedly while still a mayor of a sleepy town in Maine, and the idiot had refused to ship her one in her size.

So technically the two piece she'd conjured with her mind was infringing on the bastard's copyright, but Regina was also fairly certain that his copyright didn't extend to a warm little island in a land inhabited by cyclops, Greek gods, and the witch Sinbad was "just friends" with.

And if, by chance, a cease and desist did some how make it away from the one realm Regina couldn't get to, then she'd be less annoyed and more intrigued.

She snapped her fingers and a nubile man and woman in flimsy silk sarongs popped into existence. The woman carried a drink and the man a fan that he got to work cooling off Regina's sun-warmed body with.

Aurora looked up from her reading and screamed in surprise, her hand flying to her chest. "Would you stop stealing villagers to use as your slaves!"

She accepted the drink. "It's not like they remember or anyone even notices. They just think it's a dream."

"It's immoral."

Regina rolled her eyes.

"I'm more worried she's going to steal someone I don't want to see in a sarong," Mulan muttered. "What if you accidentally abduct Sinbad? I don't need to see all of…that." Her whole face contorted in disgust, and behind her Aurora's face mirrored it perfectly.

"I won't abduct Sinbad. I don't think I even can. As long as he's in Circe's home he's out of reach."

"Well, that's one saving grace," Aurora said. She snapped Hook’s journal closed and peered at Regina's conjured minions. "Where does their clothing come from?"

Regina reached out to finger the soft cloth the man wore around his waist. "They're sarongs. A tidy form of garb worn by people in another land."

"And they choose to wear it here?"

"No. I just like how a muscular man in a sarong looks."

"I thought you preferred busty blonds." Mulan slipped on her next knife throw and glared at her "just friend" who was grinning impishly at Regina. "They're hardly Emma shaped," Aurora said.

"I can make **you** Emma shaped if you like."

"Please don't," Mulan pleaded.

"And have you staring at me all day morosely? I think not!"

Regina raised her hand to give Aurora at least the **shape** of an Emma, but a screeching piglet, rushing across the beach and being chased by six enormous pigs, distracted her.

"What on earth…"

She went to the edge of the boat to watch the flock, or squad or herd or whatever a group of pigs was called, race towards them. Mulan joined her, squinting and using her hand to shade her eyes. "Does that piglet…?"

Aurora produced a spy glass emblazoned with Hook’s crest from her person and peered through it. "That piglet has a hook for a hoof."

The piglet was also a tiny little black haired thing, while the pigs chasing it were all red or brown.

"But you don't think," Mulan started.

"That that idiot got himself turned into a piglet and is being chased by transformed villagers as we speak?"

"Never mind. That is exactly what happened."

Mulan heaved herself over the side of the boat, landing in the surf and drawing her sword. Aurora climbed up to the wheelhouse to stand next to Regina and offered her spy glass and the two women took turns sharing it and watching Mulan rescued a piglet named Killian.

It really was impressive. As Mulan was a **good** person she refused to just skewer the enormous pigs because they were likely innocent villagers transformed by Circe's magic. Instead she scooped Hook up and held him in one hand while deflecting the blunt and nasty little pig teeth that kept lunging for the meat of her legs.

"Are you two going to help?"

"You've got this," Aurora cheered.

Regina kept quiet, because if she spoke up Mulan would demand that she use her magic and she didn't feel like fighting a herd of pigs while in a bikini. It seemed dangerous to her tan.

Mulan kicked one pig, and flipped over two more. They spun on their little hooves and charged again. She clearly needed two hands to fight them and handling a screeching pirate piglet wasn't helping.

"I need two hands," she called. "Catch."

Then she lobbed Hook like the pigskin he might one day be if he wasn't careful and Aurora, showing a knack for sports Regina didn't expect, stepped back, watched his trajectory, and caught him as smoothly as any football.

“Good job Drew Bledsoe.”

“Who—“ Hook twisted and squealed in Aurora’s hands and she dropped him on his tiny hooves and hook.

Huffing noisily through his little snout he ran up to the edge of the boat and peered over the top of the gangplank to watch Mulan finish off the other pigs.

Aurora cooed. “He’s kind of cute isn’t he?”

“More attractive now than before,” Regina agreed.

Killian snorted.

Aurora knelt down next to him and tapped the silver appendage where a fourth hoof should have been. “I like how she gave him a tiny hook.”

The once feared pirate banged his little hook on the gang plank in irritation and even Regina had to admit he was…cute.

She grinned.

He’d be positively mortified when the spell was undone.

There was a higher pitched squeal from the beach below and when both women peered over the side they saw a number of muddy bottomed pigs disappearing into the forest and Mulan tapping a dead one with her toe.

“You killed it," Aurora cried in horror.

Mulan shrugged.

Regina leaned against the side of the boat, resting her chin in her palm. “Does this mean we have ham for dinner?”

Aurora frowned. “Is it cannibalism if they're shapeshifted into something inhuman?”

“Probably, but when they die they always shift back.” She waved haphazardly at the corpse Mulan was now tossing over her shoulders. “So **that’s** just a peculiarly smart pig.”

Killian snuffled in agreement.

 

####

A very smart pig that Regina ended up having to butcher. They’d drawn straws to decide who’d do the gory business and while Aurora insisted she didn’t cheat she’d also been the one that managed to avoid cleaning Gauvin and Hwin’s hold and fixing the clog in the ship’s head the last time they drew straws.

As Regina laid her cleaver to the hulking mass of pork flesh she eyed the princess, who was acting oblivious and playing with piglet Killian.

Mulan sidled up to observe Regina’s work. “Most people would have changed out of their swimwear before butchering meat.”

“I’m an Evil Queen. I live for the feeling of warm blood on my skin.”

“I live for you not ruining the cuts. What are you doing to that ham?”

She slashed the cleaver in Mulan’s direction, “You don’t like how I butcher the pig then **you** can pull the short straw next time.” She pointed the cleaver back at herself, “I was a princess, a sorceress and a **queen**. Dismembering livestock wasn’t part of the job.”

“Just think of it as the next step in your journey towards genocidal despot,” Aurora suggested. She was sitting cross legged and Killian was curled up in her lap and enjoying a scratch behind his ears.

Regina briefly considered flinging the cleaver at the two of them, but Mulan stepped into her line of sight and **stared**. So Regina rolled her eyes and returned to her dirty business.

Maybe she could put the entrails in Aurora’s cabin. Or put them in a bucket and put Aurora’s dress in the bottom of the bucket.

She grinned. Yes. Definitely. Little miss “My mother is a fairy princess aren’t I **magical** ” could walk around in her swimwear for a few days. Maybe get a sunburn and ruin that flawless porcelain skin.

Regina became so busy plotting and butchering that she completely failed to notice Mulan talk about a plan to recover Sinbad, turn both men back into men, and learn the whereabouts of Hermes, god of making their job harder than it needed to be.

That was until two sets of human eyes and one set of beady piglet eyes focused on her. “I’m sorry what?”

“You have to go talk to Circe.”

“But I just butchered a pig,” she whined.

“And now you can go save one,” Mulan said.

“But you already did that.”

Mulan sighed, “We need Sinbad.”

Regina would not moan “why,” though she very much wanted to. They did need the reprobate. Instead she sighed. “Aurora can do it. She’s excellent with people.”

“Aurora isn’t a witch.”

“And I’d probably get turned into a pig too.”

“What’s to stop Circe from turning **me** into a pig?”

All three members of her audience blinked in confusion. “You’re immense magic power,” Mulan suggested.

“True." She preened, "Fine. I’ll go get the oinker back, but if anyone **touches** that pork belly you’re all spending the rest of the trip looking like the pirate.” Julia Child has a **wonderful** recipe for pork belly and Regina had never been able to acquire the stuff in Storybrooke's less than adequate supermarket.

Mulan and Aurora both looked about ready to call Regina’s bluff.

“I mean it. I have great plans for it and I don’t need it sullied by what you two call cooking.” 

Speaking of the pirate, he tried to approach the butchered meat to figure out what piece he could steal and eat. Regina snapped and he suddenly had a little harness with a long leash. The pirate piglet squealed in horror.

“You’re coming with me Babe.”

The other end of the leash flew into her hand and her bathing suit disappeared behind a whirl of smoke, transforming into a very fetching regal number with a plunging neckline.

Aurora winced.

“Problem with my attire dear?”

“Isn’t it too ornate?”

“You ran around the enchanted forest in a silk nightgown and a scarf.”

“But there’s underbrush. You could get caught or—“

“Here’s a little advice from a queen to a princess my dear: the forest obeys **our** whims, not the other way around.”

 

####

An hour later Regina was deeply grateful that she’d left Aurora on the boat. Every damned tree and vine in that forest snagged on her dress and multitude of silk petticoats and she kept jerking to an abrupt stop and accidentally pulling on Hook's leash.

He snorted, in what was probably a laugh.

“No one says you have to survive the trip,” she muttered.

After being waylaid for what felt like the thousandth time (but was likely closer to the twentieth) Regina finally stopped, made sure they were alone, and had a wardrobe change.

She selected something more “practical.” Still busty and extravagant, but close fitting pants instead of a voluminous skirt, and sturdy boots instead of high heels. “And if you tell anyone,” she warned Hook, “I’ll turn you into bacon.”

He snuffled and raced ahead to root through the dirt, straining her lead and half dragging her.

“You know in the Enchanted Forest and Storybrooke I was so feared people scattered before me?”

Hook snorted.

“And now I’m butchering pigs and wandering through brush to meet with,” she wrinkled her nose, “peasants.” 

The piglet found something he probably shouldn’t have and began chewing on it.

“A lesson Hook: never ever trust a happy ending curse from Rumpelstiltskin.”

He turned around and stared at her like **she** was the idiot.

“Oh whatever, you're a **pig**.”

 

####

She had yet to even meet Circe, but Regina was positive she hated the woman. She turned people Regina needed into pigs, set her house on an enormous hill at the center of a dense forest, and she put up wards to keep a talented witch from simply teleporting to where she needed to be.

The woman was going to need a lesson in fairytales and Regina was quite eager to teach it, perhaps with fireballs. And flaying.

Definitely flaying.

She had to pick Hook up and carry him under her arm the last mile up the hill. There was a great deal of huffing on her part, which she refused to be embarrassed by. Queens did not **need** cardio. Especially when they had magic.

“Tell anyone,” she panted, “and bacon.”

The piglet actually rolled his little eyes.

Maybe she’d used that threat already?

Oh whatever. He could deal with it, **he** didn’t have to climb up the hill.

As she crested it she noticed the lone figure standing before the estate on a long gorgeous set of marble stairs. The woman wore a delicate red dress fastened at the shoulders with shiny gold pins. A girdle of gold and black silk highlighted her narrow waist and Regina noted that her hair was only a few shades lighter than the silk. Her eyes were an unnaturally liquid browned that seemed almost amber because of the dark kohl smudged around the lids.

She smiled. "A visitor."

Regina squared her shoulders and summoned all her regal poise. "My pet here lost his friend. I've come for him." She jerked on Hook's leash and he looked up with irritation.

"Is that all you've come for?"

"The whereabouts of the god Hermes would be nice, but I'm beginning to suspect you wouldn't be any help."

The woman—Circe—raised a perfectly sculpted ebony eyebrow. "Oh? You don't think I'm useful?"

"There's a whole world beyond this shore ripe for the taking, but your a witch who lives on a hill with a herd of pigs. You're about as useful as this idiot." She jerked the leash for emphasis.

Circe laughed and took careful steps down to meet Regina. As she had eyes Regina **had** to notice the way she walked. Bells woven into her hair rung with each step and her hips swayed from side to side so provactively that even Regina, who never was one for women, felt her mouth watering like some common animal.

And she noticed. "You should come in for a cup of tea," she said.

"I'd rather you just send the pig out."

"I can. Would you prefer him roasted or smoked?"

"Smoked—I mean alive."

Circe dragged her eyes up and down Regina's form. "The only way you get him alive," she said with her silken tone, "is if you come in."

She put a lot of emphasis on "come" and Regina was greatful she had very sturdy pants between the woman and her nether region.

She followed Circe up the stairs and tried to focus on any part of the woman that wasn't the sculpted bottom in front of her face.

Hook snuffled worriedly and kept looking at her.

She wanted to hiss that he should stop worrying, but Circe was too close for Regina to go talking to a piglet.

When Circe reached the top step she walked briskly towards the door, a mammoth brass thing with intricate carvings of—Regina squinted—bestiality.

Yikes.

She shuddered and tried to follow, but Hook pulled on his lead. "Come on," she whispered urgently.

The pirate pig actually shook his little head.

"You'll be fine. I'm with you."

He did what she supposed was a piglet's version of a scowl.

"Besides, worst comes to worst Mulan and Aurora are still on the ship."

He huffed.

Circe waved her hand and the door opened with a loud groan. Menacing shadows were just beyond her. There were no lamps or braziers. No glisten of sunlight on tiles. Just inky darkness.

Circe's hand grazed the solid wood frame and she turned her head, peeking over her shoulder and smiling lavisciously.

"Coming?"

Oh dear. Regina was fucked wasn't she?


	3. Freaky Friday

To whom it may concern,

If you are reading this than I am dead. Or I have sold this story for millions and you are reading it in a novel. It is likely the former though. Every publisher from Tortuga to Agrabah has declared my works unpublishable.

So, I have died and you are holding onto all that remains of Sinbad the Sailor. Congratulations. Please sell this letter when you are done reading it. Consider it a gift. You are welcome.

I am dead as I am currently alive. On a ship. The Jolly Roger to be exact. You’ve heard of it I’m sure. A pirate regularly bested by a **child** likes to sail around in it swaggering and saying he’ll have for revenge for his lady love while he enthusiastically fondles any and all sentient creatures in his vicinity.

I have been forced into laboring on this vessel by the cruel and lascivious Captain Hook, the petty and malicious Evil Queen, the thieving and conniving Sleeping Beauty, and Mulan—who isn’t so bad when she isn’t threatening to run me through with her magic sword.

They are currently in such a state that they cannot navigate the Jolly Roger during this terrible squall we’ve found ourselves in. I too am indisposed. So I am setting down to pen this letter and explain our deaths.

It started with a wish. 

Hook fondled a genie in the wrong port and Aurora and Regina happened to, at the same time, wish aloud that others understood them because, being spoiled royals, they assume they have the market on empathy (ironic as they’re as empathetic as a sociopathic blood mage).

That genie, being irritated and a little malicious, proudly crowed “wish granted” and suddenly Regina had a hook, Hook had a hand, and Mulan and Aurora were blushing like mad.

And I was a horse.

A magic horse as swift as the Jolly Roger and twice as attractive to be sure, but a horse all the same. 

Now you understand why I can’t rescue us from the squall.

I have hooves.

And no hands.

This realization struck me when I woke up in a stall of sweet smelling hay and heard Hook **screaming.**

Well…wailing to be precise. A mournful sort of keen that sailed out over the waters and rung through the hard wood of the boat.

In my attempt to dash to his quarters to ruthlessly mock the noise emanating from his lips I stumbled and realized I was, in fact, a horse.

But I am also a seasoned sailor. I’ve journeyed across the seven seas and witnessed kingdoms unfathomable to most mortals. I took my new form in stride, whinnying as I trotted down the tight passage from my stall to his quarters.

It was worth the rush as when I bounded into the room his keen did finally pitch up into a scream.

“Get out of here,” he snapped, his voice still pitched high and his words somehow even and full of condescension. Like…

Regina.

He peered down at his hook. “I’m in that idiot’s body,” he mumbled.

I would have noted this aloud, but horses do not have vocal cords. Therefore I whinnied in agreement.

Hook, who I strongly suspected was that most malicious of queens, pointed his hook at me. “Did you do this?”

I was a horse. And incapable of doing such a thing.

“No, of course not. You’re a horse. You can’t just magic me into this greasy idiot’s b—“

Another scream. Far higher in pitch. A woman’s scream. Hook and I dashed to Regina’s room where she was sitting on her bed, her blouse open to her navel and staring at two very pert breasts.

Regina looked from Hook, to me and back down to her bare breasts.

“Don’t,” Hook growled.

But it was too late. With the fascination of the newly transformed “Regina” squeezed a breast. 

Then **groaned**.

“Touch my breasts again and I’ll—“

“Skewer your own body with my hook,” Regina asked—her accent now the swaggering one uttered by Hook.

A tiny pin point of fire appeared on Regina’s (as we shall now assume the preferred names of the persons inhabiting the respective bodies) hook. She (as we shall now **also** assume the preferred pronouns) threw it—perhaps not realizing how sad and pathetic it would be. Collectively we watched the small spark of fire float lazily half a foot through the air before sputtering out in a gutter of white smoke.

Hook smirked. “That the best you can do mate?”

“Get out of my body,” Regina growled again.

Hook shimmied, his new breasts bouncing gorgeously. “Make me.”

Regina stalked across the room and towered over Hook. He grinned up at her beatifically. She glared. He stared. Didn’t even break eye contact as he rolled a nipple between his fingers.

Just when it seemed as though I was about to witness the murder of my erstwhile lover in the form of our vessel’s most temperamental vixen another scream sounded down the halls.

Then another.

Hook and Regina set aside curious foreplay to shove past my enormous body and race down the hall.

“Who’s the horse,” Hook shouted.

“How should I kno—“

It became quite apparent when we dashed into the mess, where Aurora was pressed against the wall staring in horror at my naked glistening **human** form. 

My body was and is perfect even in the awkward stance it stood in. Legs apart and head tilted down to stare at strong hands manipulating my—well there is no delicate way to put this dear reader. The creature in my body was palming my penis like it was a sausage at market.

“Small,” the creature uttered.

Which is a vicious lie.

“Why doesn’t he have pants,” Aurora cried.

Hook reached for my muscular shoulder, “Come on mate, the princess doesn’t need to see your bait and tackle.”

“Princess,” Aurora asked.

“That’s clearly Mulan,” Regina stated. “Though for the life of me I don’t know why she’s scared of a little nudity. You wouldn’t shut up about your adventures at a public bath during your drag days.”

“That’s dif—Regina?”

Regina nodded.

“Why are you in Hook’s body?”

She shrugged. “We’ve apparently switched. As have you dear. And Sinbad with whoever—“

“Small,” my majestic form uttered again.

I whinnied in irritation and stomped my freshly shoed hoof on the deck.

All three fully sentient creatures in the room turned as one to look at me.

Mulan was the first to laugh. Then Regina.

Hook looked from me to my nude body and back again before carefully stepping away from my form. My member, delighted by the attention it was being paid by its new owner, was growing turgid.

“This is the stuff of nightmares,” Mulan said. 

Hook wrinkled his nose, “I’ll say. I used to put that thing in my mouth.”

“No one needed to know that.”

“Ever,” Regina added. “Though **that** ,” she nodded at my human self, “does bring up a good question. Hook and I were both asleep in our bunks when this happened. What the hell were Aurora and Sinbad doing?”

They looked for the horse in a man’s body to the man in a horse’s body. I looked away—refusing to dignify their queries with a response.

You must understand that while it may appear obscene my reasoning for sleeping in the mess in the nude was quite sound.

Very sound.

“We should probably ask Aurora,” Hook declared. Only when he tried to make his way to Mulan’s quarters she quickly intercepted him.

“We should let her sleep.”

“Why?” Regina was cranky and when crossing her arms had accidentally gotten her hook stuck in her sleeve. She jerked at it, tearing the expensive shirt like paper. “We’re all in the same mess.”

“Yes but…” I prayed everyone notice the lovely rose of her blush.

Hook did. He grinned. “Meditating naked in your room again?”

“No,” she said sourly.

He looked not unlike a small child being allowed into a room full of sweets. Before anyone could stop him he was rushing down the way to Mulan’s quarters—eager to see her form in its most natural state.

But Aurora shattered his dreams and emerged from Mulan’s quarters blushing furiously and pulling a rober around herself. 

“Why am I in Mulan’s body,” she asked. 

It should be noticed that princess was the only single member of our small band to take her transformation in stride.

Hook shrugged.

“You have magic. Fix it.” She directed the command at Hook not realizing that he was, in fact, in Regina’s body.

Regina responded by waving her hook. “I’m try,” she grunted. Sparks skittered across the hook and it went straight and thickened, but stopped short of becoming an actual hand. Instead looking more like…

Well, it looked like a metal version of the bit of me a horse was currently handling in the mess.

“Something on your mind,” Hook mused.

She grimaced and shook her hand again, but the magic jumped from her hook to her hand and then she had **two** hooks.

Which was enough for Hook to panic. “You cut off my hand!”

“I did not!”

“It’s gone!”

“I’ll get it back I just—“

She shook both hooks like she was part of a bad dance routine and they both turned into hands.

“There,” she said with a smile. “See. I just needed to work the kinks out—“

One hook turned hand abruptly slapped her. She grabbed it with her other hand. Then it tried to strangle her.

She smiled. “It’s all right. Just a few kinks.” The hand lurched up out of her grip and punched her in the eye.

“She’s helpful,” Aurora groused.

“It’s this stupid body,” she grunted.

“If you don’t fix it,” Hook was threatening her. Though how unbuttoning his shirt while staring at his own body was a threat none of us could be sure.

Except Regina, “Don’t you dare.”

“I will show these women things with **this** body the lot of you can’t even **fathom** if you don’t stop beating **my** body up!”

The hand, still possessed, yanked Hook’s sword out of his scabbard. It swung wildly before Regina threw herself to the ground and used her weight to subdue it. There was a lot of grunting.

While she struggled Aurora pulled Mulan’s features into a frown, “What’s the last thing anyone remembers?”

Hook hooked his thumb in Regina’s direction. “Queen here slapping herself silly.”

“Besides that.”

“Sinbad masturbating.” Mulan sounded pained.

“And that.”

“The horse,” Regina grunted from the ground.

“Would you three focus!”

I tried to remember too.

You must understand, dear reader, that I now know the cause and have informed you at the beginning of this correspondence. Yet at the time I was confused.

It was Aurora who figured it out, using Mulan’s dangerously adequate upper body strength to land a sharp punch on Hook’s shoulder.

“Hey,” both he and the struggling witch on the ground cried.

“The genie,” the princess accused.

Mulan narrowed her eyes. “What genie?”

Being a spoiled princess Aurora had no problem laying out the scene in elaborate detail. Every sigh, thrust and awful come on were re-enacted using the partially dressed body of a renowned Middle Kingdom general.

It was one of the most remarkable moments of my life, dear reader, and had the body I reside in had the capacity to weep and clap it would have.

Instead I could do nothing more but sigh and hope my awe was adequately conveyed via the exhalation through the enormous nostrils of a horse.

Before the others could remark on the theater we’d all born witness to Regina’s hand freed itself from her clutches and stabbed Hook in the leg.

There was a great clamor as he fell to the ground screaming and clutching his bleeding limb and Regina renewed her attempts to control her mad hand.

Being a quick thinking individual I did what no one else thought to do and sat on her.

Later, when Mulan was bandaging Regina’s broken ribs and strapping her insane hand to her chest she would applaud my ability to not put my entire weight on Regina.

Regina did not find my rescue nearly as worthy of praise and glared at me through the entire procedure.

We’d moved back into the galley and Hook was leaning against the wall sipping rum and pausing periodically to look down at the hole in his leg.

“I’ll fix it,” Regina said—sparks flying across her hand.

Aurora had been busy putting pants on the horse in my magnificent body, but stopped long enough to shout “No!”

Mulan grabbed Regina’s wrist. “Maybe you should wait until you’re back in your own body to do magic.”

“Hole in my thigh aside, there’s no rush to switch bodies back,” Hook mumbled. He was flexing and watching the way the muscles moved his new breasts. “I’ve got hours of entertainment still.”

Regina tried to form another fireball and Mulan again caught her hand. “No magic.”

“Then how do you expect me to fix this?”

“You won’t. **We** will. All of us. Together.”

I stomped my front hoof in agreement. 

“Sinbad agrees.”

“He’s a horse.”

“He’s still conscious in there.”

“Right love,” Hook said, “That’s why he’s shitting on the deck.”

I turned my enormous horse head and was shocked to see I was, in fact, shitting on the deck. Unfortunately no one could understand I was as alarmed as they were and still possessed my senses.

Which is how I find myself now here, ensconced safely away from the other penning this letter. So you may know what has become of us and that **they** may know—if we survive—that while I did not possess control of my sphincter I did possess control of my faculties.

At this moment in time the squall has the ship turned nearly sideways. Regina’s mad hand has freed itself and I can hear them doing battle with it.

I presume Hook is dying and that hand will kill the rest of us if the storm doesn’t kill us fi—

SINBAD IS A HORSE’S ASS.

THE BIGGEST ASS.

I DID NOT FONDLE REGINA’S SUPPLE BOSOM. 

HE SHOULD GO SUCK OFF A TRO—

I thought about crossing out what Hook wrote but he’s clearly so angry.

Hello dear reader, this is Aurora, princess, possible queen,  and famed subject of something called a “movie.” I do not know what a movie is and had to confirm the spelling just now with Regina. Apparently it is like this letter, only it moves, and will be seen by the light of day.

Sadly this letter will not, and if you are reading this that means we have all been dead for thousands of years and are little more than legends fondly remembered for the ages. As legends fondly remembered for the ages it is imperative you do not let this letter see the light of day. We have reputations, even thousands of years into the future, that cannot be tarnished by the “truths” written here.

“But why not destroy the letter,” you wisely ask.

Because that asshole Sinbad used Regina’s permanent paper and ink. This letter is indestructible. 

Feel free to use it as shelter in case of an emergency.

But back to the matter at hand. As this letter cannot be destroyed Sinbad’s scurrilous remarks must be answered.

1\. Hook really did fondle an angry genie.

2\. Regina and I really did wish others could understand us. But mostly because they so often default to calling us “your highness” and “your majesty” in this condescending tone that makes my blood boil and leads to Regina flinging people off the boat.

3\. Our bodies were switched.

4\. Well. You see…the thing is…Sinbad was right. While his commentary is false the actions he outlined in this letter are true. Regina’s new hand tried to murder us all and it was only stopped when she bravely chopped it off and Hook spent an inordinate amount of time touching his news breasts and Mulan and I blushed quite a bit.

They think we’re lovers. That as soon as dear Philip’s body was cold we were wrapped up in one another like traitorous harlots.

It couldn’t be further from the truth!

The most we’ve done is **kiss** and then only under duress (an incident involving sirens that I’d like to forget).

But back to the events that transpired…

After Regina lopped off her hand and bound up the bloody remaining limb we were left with a problem. Our sorceress could not perform magic, our guide was a horse, ours horses were engaged in bestiality (they apparently are madly in love and it is quite sweet when their passion isn’t being explored between the body of a man and a horse), we were stuck in a squall and we were all in the wrong bodies.

Then Mulan figured out that it all went back to the silly wish Regina and I made and we all had to get incredibly drunk on the remaining rum and confessed that we empathized with one another and hug and sing and the spell was broken and that. 

Is all. You need. To know.

The moral of the story?

Sinbad is an ass.

 

Sincerely, 

 

Aurora Basile

 


End file.
